


Chichibio: a chatting crane

by chan_bi



Category: Black Sails
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 20:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11215782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chan_bi/pseuds/chan_bi
Summary: When they decided to open up a tavern, they split their work in equal measure, so of course Silver spends all of his time chatting with customers.(on advise of our lawyers, both Silver and I swear we have never heard of a Decameron written by Boccaccio)





	Chichibio: a chatting crane

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you, as always, to [ Daisy, my beta](http://occlueen.tumblr.com/).

There is a moment in everybody’s life that is defining. In that moment one must take a step back, watch their life from a different angle and face the inevitable truths they came across. It can be frightening to confront who and what we genuinely are, and coming to terms with it may be impossible for some; but, despite the great deal of suffering that such a moment can bring, one’s soul can afterwards find peace in it, liberation.

James knew it, but the knowledge didn’t soften the blow when it came to confront the reality of what his life had become and, in all likelihood, would have remained until its end. 

Everything changed the moment those doomful words left John Silver’s mouth to reach Thomas Hamilton’s heart.

In those two sets of eyes, sparkling with hope, that instantly moved to meet his, James foresaw his own ruin.

“We should open up a tavern!”

That decided it.  
He was destined to follow the brilliant, idiotic, unpredictable ideas of those two men for the rest of his life.

Three months later James Flint, now going by James Hawkins, (Jim if you didn’t value your own life or if you were a little shit) was washing dishes.  
To be honest, that wasn’t even his job. The man who should have been doing it was chatting amiably with a family in the next room, bragging about the quality of the meals served by the establishment. The shit. Since they started business he had done nothing but skip duties and dodge responsibilities, choosing rather to roam around gabbing, arguing with and entertaining customers, and couldn’t even be bothered to wait a table every once in a while.

One time James, annoyed, had come out of the kitchen to yell at him. Silver, shocked and overcome, had woefully made him notice how unachievable a prospect was for a shabby cripple like himself to serve and carry plates and cutlery while leaning on a crutch, making all the presents’ hearts bleed for poor Sol Little.  
He had found himself comparing the remembrance of said crutch used without hardship as a blunt weapon against the better part of the English Navy forces in Nassau (and not so infrequently even James himself) to the parody of a pitiful and pathetic gimp standing in front of him, holding solidly onto his crutch with both hands, even fucking shaking a little, probably contemplating coughing a couple of times for good measure, and it had been impossible for James to stay in the room without breaking into laughter.

Now, he was scrubbing a particularly crusted pan and could hear him blabbing.

“...yes, I do believe today’s stew was one of my finest..”

He grinned, shaking his head. Silver wasn’t even allowed to stand closer than five feet from the ingredients in James’ kitchen, thank you very much.

“… Last week I ended up adding a little too much salt, sometimes even the greatest chefs make that mistake.” 

James didn’t know why he kept indulging this.

“...It’s because of our greatest fear: the blandness.” 

It could be that he didn’t mind leaving to someone else the trivial conversations with the patrons. He really did enjoy speaking almost exclusively to bright people for a change, even if just the two; the one thing that he really didn’t miss about his pirate days was constantly having to talk to morons.

“Let me tell you, it’s better a sour taste than a bland one...”

It could be that Thomas seemed to enjoy his chatter way too much, and he didn’t have it in himself to deny both of them at the same time. Now he was maybe able to comprehend and appreciate how poor ol’ De Groot must have felt all those months sailing with them.

“Mr Little, how did you become such a masterful chef?”

Or it could be that lately Silver had returned more and more to his old self. Not only in appearances (having finally lost the coat and the beard, only the slightly longer hair and the always present crutch discerned him from the man blabbing about dairy goats and stomping his foot declaiming items) but with his expressions and manners. The raging glares and clenching jaw had been replaced with mirthful grins and only sometimes distant clouded looks dimmed his eyes.

“Oh, it is a truly incredible story the one you are asking me to tell...”

Needless to say James was more than happy about these changes.

“This is the story of a young Lord, named Thomas Hamilton, and the two people he loved the most.”

That was it, he was going to kill him.

James let the pan go abruptly, making it splash loudly into the basin, and walked angrily toward the door. 

“You see, Lord Hamilton was kind and wise and in all the lands of his estate there were nothing but happiness and prosperity.”

He wasn’t even sure what he would have done when he would have got his hands on that moron. 

“ He was gentle and loving to everyone, but not as much as he was gentle and loving to his beautiful and cunning wife, Miranda.”

He was about to step in the room when, out of nowhere, Thomas appeared, his figure blocking the door, his arms tended forward to stop him, as if he had heard his thoughts through the kitchen’s wall. 

“James, wait. They’ll never know. Let him talk, I’m ordinary Tom Barlow here, no one will know.”

“What the fuck does he think he’s doing?”

“It’s a game.”

“A game?”

“A dare, between us.” He was smiling. “Yesterday I won.”

“Congratulations” he couldn’t stop himself from saying, but after a moment his brain caught up: “A dare about what?”

“Listen and you will find out” Thomas gave him a nod pointing towards the next room, “he is telling the story of how Sol Little became a cook.”

“I know, I’ve heard”.

They entered the other room to listen to the story standing next to each other behind the counter. Almost everyone in the room was already watching Silver, who was sitting at a table of five, seemingly unaware of the attention. Nothing further from the truth.

“… And if he wasn’t with one he was with the other. It was known that the man was always by the side of one of them. No one knew precisely what role he played in the palace, everyone assumed he was some kind of guard, even if the thought that someone could ever want to harm Lord or Lady Hamilton was almost unbelievable. What everyone knew was that, as much as Lord Hamilton was kind and understanding, so his guard was raging and brusque. His name was James, but he was known as Red McGraw. At the time he believed that it was because of his ginger hair but the truth is that the court called him by that name because of how red his face could get when he got angry.” 

James heard a snicker beside him.

“...but what everybody was scared of, was picturing that face painted red with the blood of his enemies.”

He looked at Thomas to find him smirking, his eyes focused on Silver.

Lately he was coming to terms with the fact that the years apart had made him forgot traits about Thomas’ personality that just now he was coming to discover again. He had concentrated so much on his kindness, his wittiness, and his eloquence that he had forgot about his less ethereal habits. How he would, for example, enjoy whispering sarcastic comments with Miranda, gossiping about some pompous Lord or another while attending fancy parties in London and, if caught, talk over their heads, faking compliments and praises, until Miranda had to excuse herself not to laugh to their faces.

The more James thought about it, the more he wished he had never introduced him to Silver.

“… So, Red McGraw, the greatest hunter in the land, had caught this beautiful crane, to be dined with during the feast in honor of Lady Hamilton’s birthday. A crane can be one of the most delicious meats if cooked properly by a great chef, and the Hamiltons weren’t worried because they had in their employ, if young, one of the greatest ones in the whole of England.

“His name was Ben Gunn, he loved his job and he took pride in doing it. There was no better person to learn from, because watching him work you could enjoy the passion he felt for it. He took the crane and spent hours and hours researching the best possible way to prepare it, and then spent hours and hours again to cook it to a turn. 

“Every spice, every grain of salt, every second the crane was roasting on the fire was calculated to an art.

“There was nothing young Ben Gunn loved doing more than finding the best way to cook and season a refined plate, except maybe the very thing that made him leave the kitchen for five minutes that night, barely half an hour before the feast.”

Silver stopped, just the time necessary to help himself to a long sip of wine from a mug that probably wasn’t his but sat in front of him on the table, and to appreciate the complete attention of the whole room.

“You see, every other day, at the same hour, Billy the gardener in his sleeveless shirts used to stop in the yard for a few minutes to chop some wood for the fireplace just outside the window of the corridor that lead to the kitchen. The one thing that Ben Gunn loved more than cooking the perfect fare were those sleeveless shirts.

“It was during those few moments the cook had taken for himself that an unconscionable character, led by the succulent smell of the crane, entered the kitchen.  
I don’t know where he came from, or what brought him into Lord Hamilton’s estate, and honestly I don’t think it matters. One moment the kitchen was empty except for the crane on the table, ready to be served to the Lords, the next he was there eating a crane drumstick like he hadn’t eaten in weeks, and, who knows, maybe he hadn’t.

“What I know is that he certainly was a lucky fuck happening into the kitchen exactly at the right time to get to eat that delicious leg before he was discovered. But discovered he was, and when the butler of the mansion, Mr Gates, entered the kitchen, he had just covered the plate with a lid seconds before.

“Mr Gates was a jostling, impatient man, with too much to do to have time to deal with or tolerate things like a stranger in one of the mansion rooms. So it was in a very brusque way that, when he saw him standing in the kitchen, he asked ‘Who the hell are you? Where the fuck is Gunn?’

“The stranger, who had jumped, startled by the sudden arrival of the butler, had recovered quickly and was with a warm smile on his face that he said, without missing a beat ‘ Mr Gunn is sick and he couldn’t handle the thought of what you might do to him if he were to infect the Lords. I, on the other hand, being his new assistant, prepared this fine meal in his absence. My name is John Silver, and I happen to be a very good cook.’

“The fool thought that by convincing Mr Gates of his story he had avoided all troubles, what he didn’t know was that his problems were just about to begin. Gates ordered him to bring immediately the tray into the living room, where the feast was about to start, and present it to the Lord and Lady of the House, and actually followed him all the way there without taking his eyes off him for a second.

“So, there he was, in the middle of the room, all eyes on him, the Lord, the Lady, the infamous Red bodyguard, the guests he guessed were of some importance, feeling simultaneously on his skin everybody’s expectation of a magnificent meal and the knowledge of the unmistakably noticeable missing part of the main course, just below the lid.”

“When it became clear to him that the miracle he was hoping for waiting still before the Lord wasn’t going to happen, he bit the bullet and lifted the lid.  
There were amazed faces at the delicious smell that immediately filled the room, followed by puzzled looks at the visibly missing piece of crane in the plate.”  
“You need to imagine the silence that followed. You see, silence is not always void, sometimes, especially in a room full of people, silence can be the loudest thing there is.  
John Silver was almost relieved when after a few moments, that to him had seemed years, the silence was broken by a loud ‘What the fuck did you do to that?’” 

“So,” James smirked and looked at Thomas “he’s just not going to tell them how Sol Little became a cook?”

“That’s the challenge,” Thomas beamed at him, “the game is about who, answering a question, can tell a story so compelling that no one notices the fact that the question isn’t answered at all before the end. Yesterday I told the story of the tragic end of my first pet when asked how did I get this scar on my arm.” Thomas shook his head with mocking sorrow. “It was a mongrel dog named Ashe, died in an explosion, truly tragic, I didn’t mention my arm once.”

James couldn't fathom how he could have forgotten how much of an asshole Thomas could be, in his own special way. 

“So now Sol has to pull this off to tie this round, but of course he decided to tell a story without the main character of the question in it just to overdo it. He is going to overreach. I have come to know that he is one never to be underestimated, especially about how much he can do with that tongue of his" they exchanged a look " but I do believe sometimes he just can’t stop himself from carrying it too far.”

Thomas gave him an unimpressed look. “Yes, that is a problem Sol and only Sol has in this room” he deadpanned. 

James was about to retort when a loud gasp twisted trough the audience and brought their attention rapidly back to the tale.

“… and his face was so red and angry that John Silver could already see himself actually hanged in the square of the nearby town for the sin of a stolen dinner. But the one notion that in his life he had ever known to be true was that nothing was inevitable, there was always a way out of every situation, and that his eloquence was his most valid asset to achieve his ends. So he took courage and let his mouth do the thinking: ‘ I don’t understand what are you talking about, Mr McGraw, sir.’ He said with the most innocent expression he could muster, ‘All cranes have one leg and one only. I merely cooked the animal you brought me, if you wanted to eat two legs you should have hunted for an animal that has two.’ 

“Even while speaking Silver couldn’t believe to have found in himself the boldness to tell such a lie. He knew that in order to sell such a story he would have to win over the most dissatisfied man in the audience, and to do so he couldn't avert his eyes from Red McGraw’s, but yet he managed not to miss the amused looks of Lord and Lady Hamilton. Those cheerful smiles, however, didn’t help much to put his mind at rest when Red’s expression shifted from an angry frown to a cruel smirk. 

“He actually gulped, still staring him in the eye, even before the guard started to talk. ‘Okay then, to settle this matter tomorrow you will accompany me on a hunting trip, you will stay right by my side until we’ll come across some cranes. Then you’ll show to me the number of legs they actually have. If you are right you will have a bright future here, working for the Lord and Lady in this mansion, if not, I’ll decide if you’ll even have a future at all.’ And before Silver could come up with something to counter with, he turned to the Hamiltons and said ‘Good enough for you?’

“If we are to believe the rumors about the Lord, his laughter wasn’t a cruel one when he conceded the deal, only entertained, and if we are still to believe those rumors Silver life wasn’t really in danger like McGraw wanted to make it to seem. Nevertheless it was an understatement that Silver didn’t like his odds about the next day.

“As a last hope Silver turned his pleading gaze to Lady Miranda, who seemed even more amused by the situation than her husband. Their eyes met and, for a moment, he thought maybe he could get through her when she said ‘give me a second to think about this’.

“But then again, he knew the rumors about her too, about her cunning and smarts, so he shouldn't have been very surprised when she turned to Mr Gates and asked, already three steps ahead of everyone else, ‘where is Mr Gunn in all of this?’ Silver was praying so hard for the real cook not to show up in the middle of the process that would’ve decided his fate that he didn’t even hear the butler repeating his own lies to the room. 

“He did hear her talking again to him, with a calm smile ‘so it’s your word against Mr McGraw’s about the number of legs this animal has. The dispute can be resolved with James plan, or we could just wait for Mr Gunn to recover from his illness and ask for his version of the story. Your choice Mr Silver.’

“And that’s how John Silver found himself hunting for the first time, with an angry ginger and a story he couldn’t possibly sell.”

All of a sudden a thought crossed James’ mind.

“Do you think Silver could be Italian?”

“You mean because of this? He could be highly educated, or even just well lettered without a formal education, you know this better than me.”

At times like this, when Silver let a glimpse of himself be revealed, even a little, even by accident, with a phrase or an attitude toward something, it wasn’t uncommon for James to find himself speculating, by himself or with Thomas, about who Silver was before they met.

It was the one thing he could never talk about with Silver, the only thing. They had grown close to the point of sharing almost every thought, every experience. Sometimes he felt like if he and Silver didn’t have a conversation about any given thing, there was no tangible proof that it was real, a part of the world they lived in. Maybe Silver felt the same way, and his reluctance to talking to him about his past was actually an active way to eliminate it from existence, to make it as if it was never real.  
Although he knew this way of reasoning was far from clear thinking he had to admit that, in all sincerity, it was similar to the kind of absurd argument Silver used to make about Flint’s power over reality.

Thomas, who had less of an inclination for drama, just liked making suppositions, being the curious soul he had always been. 

“Or maybe he just found a copy of the Decameron during some raid and decided to read it. From what I remember from my literature studies both Italian and Spanish originate from Latin, so I suppose they must be rather similar to one another as well. And I believe you told me that he speaks Spanish quite well.

“Yes, I know he speaks Spanish fluently, I don’t know if he knows how to read it.”

“Not all languages are as different in the spoken and written form as English is, I believe.”

“I’ll take your word for it, you know, being a lowborn uneducated pirate and all.”

“Oh please James, you were an uneducated lowborn well before you became a pirate. Now hush, he’s about to get to the good part.”

“...And he was spending hours and hours following McGraw in his hunting, knowing it was only a matter of time before they’d found what they were looking for. Now, I don’t need to tell you how the poor John Silver was feeling about the situation, and I don’t need to remind you what was at stake for him in those dreadful moments. 

“At first he had tried to make conversation with McGraw, to be perceived as likable, trying to gain, if not yet his friendship, his estimation, so that when the time would come for his deception to be revealed, he would have some chance at a merciful outcome. But not only McGraw had shut down every attempt to a conversation, or a connection of any kind, it seemed that he took incredible enjoyment in dragging the whole ordeal out, just to see Silver suffer. It seemed as if he knew where cranes were likable to be found, and purposefully avoided those places, just to ensure that the hunt lasted long enough to make Silver picture in his mind every possible punishment he could conceive.  
Finally, it happened, they were riding near a river when they came across twelve beautiful cranes asleep in the water.

“There is something you need to know about cranes. You see, they have this habit, while they sleep, to stay upright in the water keeping balance with only one leg, while the other is crouched under their body. So when the hunting party encountered the sleeping animals they saw twelve cranes standing, with only one leg to sustain them, by the river. 

“Silver, who didn’t know a thing about ornithological sleeping habits, but, on the other hand, knew a thing or two about taking chances, said ‘As you see, Sir, I told nothing but the truth. Cranes only have one leg. I did nothing but prepare a fine meal for my Lord and Lady, and I, as proved by what you all can see here, did absolutely nothing wrong. I’m completely innocent’.

“But for McGraw it wasn’t the first hunting trip, so, after a few moments of shock about the coincidence highlighted by Silver, he was brought back to his anger by the other man’s smug words. He smirked to Silver, knowing he finally had him caught in his own lies, and clapped three times, one … two … three, really loudly.”  
Silver, in the tavern, clapped too, underlying every number with a loud noise, to emphasize the tale. Not that it was necessary; there was no way he could lose the attention of even one person amongst his audience.

“At the sound, all the cranes woke up startled, stretched the until then crouched leg out and flew away. McGraw turned to Silver with a self-satisfied look as if to say ‘Now what can you think of to find a way out of this one?’

“Silver just smiled and with all the gall he could muster replied to the unspoken words‘ Well, but you didn’t clap last night to the other crane! If you did, who knows, it might have put down a second leg and fled away as well.’  
No one had ever saw Red McGraw laugh as much as he did in that occasion. He liked that answer so much that not only he ended up not inflicting any punishment to the thief, but he actually offered him a position in the mansion, where John Silver could live a good long life without having to steal for hunger.”

Silver looked very pleased with his story, everyone in the tavern was splitting their sides laughing and yelling and no one seemed to have noticed the absence of Sol Little in it. He turned to meet their eyes and Thomas gently clapped at him from behind the counter, smiling and cackling with everybody else.

“He did it, it’s a tie!” 

“Give him another minute before saying anything conclusive. He’s not going to be satisfied with just this ending, he’ll want to add at least a little more personal touches, to really be the one to have the last word. Watch.”

As if to concur with him Silver resumed talking.  
“You see, the point is that... ”

“Mr Little, I’m sorry,” he was interrupted by the person sitting next to him. James couldn't say whether she was the same one who asked the question in the first place, but he knew what was coming, and, going by the momentary look of disappointment on Silver’s face he could tell he knew it too.“I don’t understand. Did I miss something? Where were you in the story?”

All eyes were locked back on him as Silver sighed, taking his time to slowly stand up. He smiled, took a small bow towards Thomas, who was beaming for the victory, and arched an eyebrow at James for having predicted the outcome.  
He was heavily leaning onto his crutch, a lot more than he actually needed to, as he emphatically gestured to himself and said: 

“You mean you haven’t figured it out yet? I was obviously the crane!”

And with the laughing and the cheering and the yelling that followed the last comment James was reminded once again that Silver, in storytelling as much as in real life, could really bullshit his way out of every situation.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me about Boccaccio and cranes on [ my tumblr](http://lylvandam.tumblr.com/).


End file.
